Rags To Royals (Royal #1: Book 1) | ✔

30

-• we meet again •-

The next day after school, Agastya sends off the twins alone and we drive to the Rajawat Estate in his car.

No place has ever creeped me out as much as the first glimpse of the humongous Rajawat Estate did. It has all, the rich allure, the luxury, the promise of comfort, yet as if it is wearing a veil of sparkle, deceiving you with the glory and the glamour, hiding something vicious beneath all along.

I stare at the tall trees along the driveway, so tall they canopy the clear blue sky. The place is so picturesque worthy, it looks more like a painting than a reality. Everything that surrounds the grand mansion stands tall and proud like a shield, meant to guard what lies behind. There's no welcoming warmth that I felt when I first entered the Chauhan palace, everything here feels materialistic, cold and concealed.

I open the window and the winds tear through my locks so harsh I have to tie my hair in a bun to avoid the tangled mess. My eyes dart to Agastya, then to his hand that is clenched tightly around the wheel as he watches the outside through the windshield, his face impassive and icy.

The car slowly comes to a stop on the porch. Before I can open the doors, an attendant rushes to us and does it for me. I thank him politely as I step out and look over the roof of the car, instantly meeting Agastya's dark onyx eyes, that for some reason, in this moment eerily resembles my eldest brother's.

He comes to my side and holds my hand in his, his gaze softening when it looks down at me, making me the sole receiver of his attention.

"Don't get blinded by their glamorous outward appearances or kind smiles," he gently tucks in a strand behind my ear. "They are monsters, Tara. All of them." He whispers, causing a shiver to rack down my spine.

I swallow.

"Let's get done with this as fast as possible without getting into troubles, okay?"

I nod in reply.

"And don't leave my side for the next two days." He instructs.

"Yeah," I answer.

Last night after dinner, Vivaan came to my room to tell me the same exact things.

Don't leave Agastya's side.

Don't make friends there.

Don't speak unless spoken to.

Not just him, but I heard the same from Yuvaan and Dad as well. To say I was dreading coming here would be an understatement. I even forgot all about my tiny crush on Atharva until he came to the classroom to talk to his sister. I've been on the edge from the time dinner ended last night.

"Let's go," he mumbles, gripping my hand tighter in his, not to imply control or dominance, but as a sign of protection and assurance, that he's here, by my side.

I follow wordlessly, our feet in synchrony, slapping against the shiny surface of the marbled stairs. The huge double doors open automatically, without Agastya having to knock or ring a doorbell, and reveals a velvet smooth carpeted red path. Shiny antique sconces glow beneath arrays of frames hanging on the corridor walls, each painting telling a unique story of a different era, of victory and glory, of wars and bloodbaths, of crowns and thrones, of Kings and Queens.

I watch in awe, my hand slipping from Agastya's as I halt unintentionally, mesmerized by the colors and streaks on the canvas, a scene straight from the war, and how it glorifies death over defeat, blood over benevolence, and victory in violence.

"Tara," my hand is being held again as Agastya steps in between me and the painting. "Don't get distracted so easily." His brows furrow together in concern.